I'd be snoozing right now; but the sound of a toddler barfing right next to me hath murdered sleep. I'm fussy that way, not being able to relax while lying there and waiting for Round 2. We could have put Susie in her own bed after her vomiting incident, but that would have made sense. After all, why mess up a set of twin sheets when you can finish off yet another set of king-sized ones instead? And Larry had the nerve to make fun of me while I carefully remade our bed with the spare sheets. "Yeah, make sure that top sheet is on right-side-out," he remarked. "We wouldn't want her to puke on the wrong side tonight."
I'm a creature of habit, what can I say? I tucked in the corners just so, too.
Last week Mental Tesserae suggested (in the comments of this post) that mothers must have 100 words for vomit, just as Eskimos (supposedly) have a hundred words for snow. Well, I managed to use 3 of them in that first paragraph alone. Pretty good, huh? It strikes me that I may have a special talent for writing about regurgitation (4!). I've certainly had enough practice, anyway.
Why can't I ever write about anything interesting, like global warming or the food shortage or the presidential campaign? Noooo, it's always vomit this and barf that and puke all over the bed linens around here. I wonder whether the people who invented the Internet envisioned someone like me using it to liveblog the slow, relentless march of a stomach virus through our family of 8.
Ain't technology great? Maybe I could embed a video next time. I mean, what's a vomit story without the sound effects?